DADADEL
I was beyond exhausted — so tired that remembering simple things like brushing my teeth or feeding the dog was a struggle.
Since the twins arrived, my life has been a whirlwind. Don’t get me wrong, Lily and Lucas were my precious little ones, but juggling two newborns nearly on my own felt like an impossible task. I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in months. Halloween was approaching, and the whole neighborhood buzzed with excitement, except me.
Finding energy for decorations was out of the question. I could barely keep up with daily life, let alone seasonal festivities.
Then there was Brad. Halloween was his passion, and every year he went all out. His house transformed into a haunted carnival, with gravestones, skeletons, oversized jack-o’-lanterns, and elaborate scenes everywhere.
And he basked in the compliments. That smug grin whenever someone admired his work? It drove me nuts.
The entire neighborhood was enchanted by Brad’s display. But I was too drained, struggling just to get through the day. Then, on a typical October morning, everything took a turn.
I walked outside, balancing Lily on one hip and Lucas cradled in my arm, only to find my car had been egged. Shells and goo stuck to the windshield, dripping down in a disgusting mess. “Are you serious?” I muttered. I’d parked in front of Brad’s house the previous night, close to our door because it was easier to manage the twins’ stroller.
Initially, I assumed it was some prank. But when I noticed that egg splatters reached Brad’s front porch, suspicion became a certainty.
It had Brad written all over it. Halloween or not, he acted like he owned the curb in front of his house. I could feel my anger rising.
I stormed to his door, pounding on it louder than necessary. I didn’t care. I was beyond civility.
“What?” Brad opened the door, crossing his arms with his usual smug expression. His house was decked out, with cobwebs hanging from gutters, skeletons on the porch, and a witch lounging in a chair — the whole ridiculous setup. “Did you see who egged my car?”
Without a blink, he replied, “I did. Your car’s blocking my decorations.” I was stunned. “You egged my car because I parked in front of your house? You couldn’t have just asked?”
He shrugged. “People come from all over to see my display. They can’t appreciate it if your car’s in the way.”
I blinked, trying to comprehend. “Are you serious?” But he only shrugged again. “I’m the Halloween King! People love this setup. You parking there ruins it.”
“Sorry my life interferes with your spooky graveyard,” I retorted. “I’ve got newborn twins, Brad.” He leaned in his doorway, unfazed. “I know. Maybe you should park somewhere else.”
I tried explaining why I parked close — the twins, the stroller — but he was unmoved. “Not my problem, Genevieve. Park there after Halloween, okay?” My rage was boiling, but exhaustion stifled it.
“Fine,” I said, walking back, too tired to fight. But as I scrubbed the eggs off my car later, an idea formed. Brad was a bully, but I could be smarter.
That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, a plan took shape. Brad’s weakness was his pride in his display. I didn’t have the energy for a showdown, but a little creative revenge? That, I could do.
The next day, I casually approached him as he worked on more decorations. “Hey, Brad,” I said, sounding as friendly as I could. “It was inconsiderate of me to block your display. You put so much effort in… have you thought about upgrading it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Upgrade?”
I suggested high-tech decorations — fog machines, ghost projectors, fancy lighting — praising his setup while secretly listing brands that were notorious for malfunctioning. His eyes lit up, falling right into my plan.
“You think so?” he asked, already imagining his next Halloween masterpiece.
“Absolutely. You’d be the talk of the neighborhood,” I encouraged. And with that, I walked away, content. Now, all I had to do was wait.
Halloween night arrived, and Brad’s house was something straight out of a horror movie. As expected, he’d gone overboard. A crowd gathered, admiring the mist rolling over his lawn, and Brad basked in their admiration. From my porch, with Lily and Lucas in my lap, I watched his display — until things started going hilariously wrong.
Right on cue, the fog machine sputtered and sprayed water everywhere. Kids laughed, and Brad looked panicked.
Then the ghost projector — his pride and joy — flickered and displayed a blurry blob that barely resembled a ghost. Parents chuckled while kids outright laughed.
Finally, his giant inflatable Frankenstein deflated in slow motion, the head rolling across the yard as some teenagers gleefully joined in, tossing eggs at his collapsing scene.
Brad was frantic, running around trying to save his haunted house, but it was too late. His display had turned from spooky to comical, and he had no way to salvage it.
The next morning, as I fed Lucas, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Brad, looking as deflated as his Frankenstein. He muttered, “I wanted to apologize… for egging your car. I overreacted.”
I crossed my arms, enjoying his discomfort. “Yeah, you did.”
“I just… didn’t realize how tough it must be for you with the twins.” He scratched his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.”
I let him squirm a bit before responding, “Thanks for apologizing, Brad. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
He nodded, eager to end the awkward exchange. “No, it won’t.” As he turned to leave, I couldn’t resist. “Funny how things balance out, don’t they?”
He glanced back, silent for once, and walked away.
